


stubborn old idiots

by notjodieyet



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Yearning!!!, based on...... unit discussions, but i'd rather tag than not, i guess, space_boye is to be credited for all of this, theyre married but they refuse to cuddle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:20:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25154596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjodieyet/pseuds/notjodieyet
Summary: Jo fidgeted, looking a bit nervous, and unfolded a piece of paper the Master had not previously noticed. She cleared her throat. “Ah-hem. If you persist in insulting my manner of dress or my person, I will simply neglect to visit you at all today and in the foreseeable future. Love, Doctor. Wait no don’t say the love bit.” Jo pinked, and then said, “Forget the last part?”---or, the master and the doctor desperately want to kiss each other, but neither wants to admit it.
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Third Doctor/The Master (Delgado)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 68





	stubborn old idiots

**Author's Note:**

  * For [space_boye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_boye/gifts).



UNIT always seemed so dismal when it was raining, the Master observed from his vantage point on a conveniently placed couch next to a window. The Brigadier hadn’t even bothered to grumble  _ Why are  _ you  _ here?  _ or even  _ And how did  _ you  _ get in?  _ this morning. There was a severe lack of energy, overall, he considered, and it made the building seem that much greyer.

The Master had stolen a book from the library inside the TARDIS for just that reason — nobody seemed to care to engage in friendly banter today, and friendly banter was the only reason he had stuck around this long. His new book was from the Prasgar solar system, and it looked about six hundred pages or counting, about linguistics and politeness and general culture that the Master knew he would probably never use.

Regardless, linguistics had always been a special point of interest for him. (Especially when the linguistics information was coming from a certain white-haired Time Lord; but that was beside the point). 

He had just cracked open the admittedly unwieldy volume when he was interrupted by a voice in the doorway. “The Doctor wants to see you,” said Jo Grant, her normally rather perky attitude weighed down by, presumably, the dismal weather. “He’s in his box again.”

“The TARDIS?”

Jo scrunched up her nose; whether from disinterest or disgust he couldn’t tell. “His box, yeah. He said to tell you… I don’t remember. Fat lot of good I am as a messenger.”

“You’re a fantastic messenger, Miss Grant. Do tell the Doctor I’m not interested in his science experiments  _ or _ his box —” He smiled at her at that. “— And that I’m happy to sit here and read the livelong day.” 

“He’ll be annoyed,” she said.

“I have dealt with the Doctor when he was far worse than that. I believe I am well-equipped enough to handle him a bit miffed.”

Jo slipped out of the room. 

The Master opened his book, at long last, remarking the note made by a familiar slapdash hand on the first page:  _ Property of the Doctor’s TARDIS, please return immediately. Address: the time vortex, _ and reading into the introduction. It had been a long time since he’d read anything in any sort of Prasgarian dialect, and although he could rely on the TARDIS translation system, he thought it best to challenge himself. 

The symbols tripped him up a bit, and he realized halfway through the short introduction that he’d been reading the tenses completely inaccurately and changing the meaning of several common colloquial Prasgarian phrases, and was therefore required to begin anew. That translator was beginning to sound like a more prudent idea, but now that the Master had started, he couldn’t very well quit now.

“Hi. It’s me again.”

The Master sighed and looked up. “Hello, Miss Grant. What does the Doctor have to say for himself?”

“He says that you have no sense of fashion and beside, he doesn’t like you.” Jo looked apologetic at that, as if she would rather not say the words but she was being paid and therefore had little choice in the matter. 

“Ah. He’s being  _ reasonable _ today, I see.” The Master set his book aside to say, “Please tell my dear husband that I am not moving anywhere, and he may take his  _ fashion _ complaints to his own closet.”

“All right.”

The Master returned to his reading.

This time, he managed to forge through not only the introduction but the first few chapters, both of which were wildly interesting and introduced gender roles in polite Prasgarian society and how one would signify one was in a relationship or not.

“Master?”

The Master looked up. “What is it,” he said, not bothering to make the statement a proper question. 

Jo fidgeted, looking a bit nervous, and unfolded a piece of paper the Master had not previously noticed. She cleared her throat. “Ah-hem. _ If you persist in insulting my manner of dress or my person, I will simply neglect to visit you at all today and in the foreseeable future. Love, Doctor. Wait no don’t say the love bit. _ ” Jo pinked, and then said, “Forget the last part?”

“Which part?” said the Master, winking. 

“Ah. Thank you.”

“Do tell the Doctor that I believe a prolonged period of time not seeing me is more detrimental to his own health than mine.”

“All right.” Jo waved, awkwardly. “Enjoy your book.”

The Master did not hear from Jo for a long while afterward, and he was thankful for it. His Prasgarian book proved to be extremely interesting.  _ In many planets in the Prasgar system, wearing elbow length-gloves on your upper set of arms implies that you are an unmarried woman person. Shorter gloves, on the other hand, imply that while you are an unmarried woman person, you are not looking for a partner either. Travellers who prefer hand coverings, beware: Prasgarian courting rituals are prolonged and many out-of-system tourists have described them as overwhelming or confusing. _

The Master looked down at his own gloves and laughed to himself. He was not, indeed, unmarried or, as far as Prasgarian terms went, a female person. Cultural differences, he supposed.

His anachronistic mobile telephone decided to buzz in his pocket at that moment, and he set aside his reading material to fish about for it. 

_ How goes it without me, _ the Doctor had texted. It had only been an hour or so; but the Doctor really could not spend any amount of time without being constantly adored.

_ I’m reading. _

_ Hmmmm. _

The Master sighed.  _ Do you want to come in here? I won’t tell. _

_ What? I don’t need to see you. _

_ Of course not. Can I read? _

_ I’m not stopping you. _

The Master put his phone on silent.

* * *

It was another hour and thirty-two minutes before the door creaked open and the Doctor, red in the face, stepped through. The Master practically wiggled in his chair:  _ here _ were the kisses he’d been hoping for! And all the more sweet, for the Doctor’s longing. 

The Doctor met his eyes. “I’m here for my coffee,” he said shortly.

“Hmmm,” said the Master, making his best bedroom eyes. (They had reduced many a UNIT soldier to a squirming, blushing mess; and the Doctor to an uncomfortable schoolboy with a significant crush). This body had  _ such _ good eyelashes. The Doctor had said so himself, once, early in the morning:  _ “Did you do that on purpose? Those beautiful lashes of yours?”  _ He hadn’t, but the thought was just wonderful.

The Doctor did not seem to notice the Master’s attempts at coquetry, and instead walked over to his coffee mug sitting abandoned on the window-sill. “I’ll be seeing you.”

“Hmmm,” said the Master again, this time upset. “Come here for a moment.”

The Doctor quirked an eyebrow. 

“My, er…” The Master locked the Doctor’s gaze, again. “Tie. Needs adjusting. If you wouldn’t mind.”

“Adjust your own damn tie,” said the Doctor.

The Master licked his lips. “Darling, please.”   
The Doctor rolled his eyes, but took a step forward and leaned over the chair anyway. The Master felt his breath tickle the tip of his nose, the scent of vanilla and some kind of fruit, his lips deliciously, _tantalizingly_ close… 

The Master closed his eyes and leaned in, but the Doctor pulled away abruptly before anything actually interesting could happen. “There you go,” he said, patting the Master’s chest. “Your tie.”

“Fine,” said the Master.

“It is what you asked for.”

“Fine,” said the Master again. “ _ Fine. _ ”

* * *

The next time he heard from the Doctor, it was via Josephine Grant. 

“The Doctor wants you,” she said. “Also it’s my lunch break.”

The Master blew a lot of air out through his nose. “Can you tell the Doctor I don’t want to see him?”

“No,” said Jo.

“Because it’s your lunch break.”

“Yes.”

“Fair enough.”

The Doctor was tinkering away at something with too many wires when the Master came into the TARDIS. “Hello,” he said without looking up.

“Hello,” said the Master. “Did you want me?”

“No.”

“Oh.” The Master found a box to sit on. He wasn’t sure why there were so many boxes on the bridge, but there were. “Miss Grant was lying.”

“She wasn’t.”

The Master let that hang in the air. 

“Stand up.”

“What?”

“Stand up, Master.”

The Master stood, looking around almost nervously, as if the Doctor had lured him here just to get the jump on him. “Doctor?”

The Doctor whirled around and took five careful steps towards the Master, grabbing the lapels of his suit jacket when he got close enough. The Master winced. “You —”

“Me,” said the Master, softly.

The Doctor slammed him up against the nearest wall, the Master’s feet briefly losing contact with the ground, and kissed him so thoroughly the Master temporarily forgot how to think. He caught the Master’s lip between his teeth and bit down, and the Master squeaked and grasped for those ridiculous frills. 

“ _ Oh _ ,” he whispered when the Doctor broke away for air.

“If you tell a single person —”

“Lock the door.”

“What?”

“ _ Lock the door, _ ” said the Master, pushing him away and beginning to unbutton his jacket. “Now,” he said, when the Doctor was finished, “Miss me?”

“Yes,” admitted the Doctor, and kissed him again. 


End file.
